Cold Front
by rum423
Summary: Summer 2010. Billy and Victoria. An Abbott and a Newman. A storm. A cabin. Exploration.
1. Chapter 1

It's never warm in Wisconsin. Not really anyway. Sure there are days, days when you thank God for air-conditioned coffeehouses or a cold beer and the family pool at your brother's. But they're nothing compared to the steaminess of Hong Kong as you gamble away your trust fund. Or the sweltering heat of New Orleans as you try your hand at something charitable for once. Or sultry summer nights in Manhattan, hot, sticky air filling your lungs as your life moves aimlessly from one debauchery-filled party to another.

Or Jamaica, Billy thought as knelt in front of the empty fireplace, its cold, dark opening taunting him with memories of a campfire on the beach and tingly warmth kindled from deep within. No, he thought, as he shivered and wiped raindrops from his face with the wet sleeve of his shirt, Wisconsin had nothing on Jamaica. It had only been a few weeks since that impromptu trip and though the calendar had marked the beginning of summer a couple of days ago, here he was soaked to the core, freezing his balls off and wondering how in the world he was going to turn ashes into fire.

With only the dim glow of candlelight and the occasional flash of lightning, he set to work, drawing from buried memory a set of instructions drilled in over time, with patience and love. He checked the flue first, made sure it was open and then using the poker, he spread the ashes from the last fire into an even bed. He crumpled the business section of an old newspaper for kindling, and despite the miserable conditions, smiled at the thought of Victor's face and a headline proclaiming him 'Business Tycoon of the Decade' going up in flames. On top of the newspaper he made a crisscross of small pieces of wood to support the large logs he placed on top. It was perfect, a thing of beauty, as long as it worked. The first match he lit fizzled out before it even reached his construction, so he moved closer to his target before striking the next.

"C'mon," he muttered to himself as he inched the tiny flame painfully slowly to the base of his pyramid. The newspaper smoked on contact and accepted the offering in a hot, thoughtless explosion. It spread slowly at first, then quick, engulfing the logs, well on its way to transforming a fast flame into a long, slow burn.

A strange sense of pride filled him, and Billy sat back on his haunches to admire his accomplishment. And for the first time since seeking shelter in his family's cabin, he hazarded a glance behind him. She was still there, still in the same spot just inside the door, her stance still defensive and angry, her arms still crossed against her soaked blouse like a petulant child, her eyes planted anywhere other than on him. Her stubbornness was usually a turn-on for him, a catalyst for thoughtless explosions of their own, but not tonight. Tonight it was frustrating. She was angry, and some of her anger was directed at him. But there was something deeper, had to be something deeper. What it was, however, the cause, the source, the solution, he wasn't sure of. The only thing he did know for certain was that tonight it was going to take a hell of a lot more than a little fire to thaw the ice princess.

* * *

_Earlier_

"Here's your damn jacket."

The screen door slammed behind her, announcing her arrival, and Billy turned from his beer and ballgame just in time for the promised article of clothing to smack him in the face. It was wet, and so was she, proof of the storms, the cold front that the scrolling bar at the bottom of his TV kept warning about.

"Aw, thanks, baby," he grinned and stood, abandoning the jacket as he sauntered towards her, "but you didn't have to come all the way out here for this."

"That's not…what you said…on the phone," Victoria retorted with measured hostility. "It's my lucky jacket," she mimicked, "and I really, really need it for my meeting tomorrow."

It was true, all of it, and Billy couldn't help but smile at both her predicament and her imitation. He had indeed called and left a long message asking her if his jacket was by any chance in her car. He knew it was; he'd planted it there when she'd given him a ride home from the airport after Japan. It was part of their game, though, he had figured. Since learning that their Jamaican nuptials weren't legally binding, it seemed they were taking turns inventing silly reasons to be in the other's company, to guarantee that whatever this was would continue. He had hoped all day that his plan would work, that she would come over tonight, but once the rain started, he had almost given up on the possibility. She was here now, though, wet, mad and sexy as hell. Billy's night had just gotten infinitely better.

"So, what?" he smirked and narrowed his eyes at her, intentionally changing the subject. "Don't you Newmans believe in umbrellas?"

"Don't you Abbotts believe in paved walkways?" She gestured down, past her nearly sheer white blouse speckled with raindrops, past the hem of her skirt and her bare legs to her feet and the six-inch heels caked with mud. "These were $600 shoes, Billy. Now, they're crap."

"Yeah, well, you're rich. You can buy new ones." That earned him a fresh flash of anger, and she pushed past him, stomping off towards the bathroom, a trail of mud marking her path. "Okay," he laughed, "so I'll buy you new ones."

He followed her to the bathroom and watched with a mix of confusion and amusement as she slammed cabinet doors and searched every inch of the tiny space for something she clearly wasn't finding. "What are you doing, woman?"

She stopped her search and huffed, staring at his reflection in the mirror instead of turning around and facing him. "I am looking for the towel. You know the one towel you own. But let me guess, it's in the washing machine? Yeah, that's just great."

"Wait, wait, wait." He stopped her as she tried to push past him, her escape blocked by his arm stretched across the open doorway. She accepted her confinement with a loud sigh, and Billy took a step forward, moving his hand to fill the narrow space between their bodies. With his eyes glued to hers, he slipped a finger in the opening between two of the buttons of her blouse and tugged at the material gently, rubbing the wet silkiness between his fingers until she looked away. "Why don't we get you out of these wet clothes? I'll get out of mine. We can go in the other room. Dry off together. Or not. What do you say?"

"Or you could just be a grown up for once and buy another towel, Billy."

"Yeah," he growled in a low, suggestive tone, "but where's the fun in that?" He saw his opportunity, the proximity, the shift in tension, the perceived notion that she was caving to his charms. He moved to kiss her, but before his lips touched hers, she ducked beneath his arm and was gone.

"Are we—are we fighting?" he asked from the doorway of the bathroom. "I mean…it feels like we're fighting, but I'd like to know so I can properly prepare."

"Isn't that what we do, Billy?" She laughed then, but it wasn't the sound he had come to crave. It was fake and laced with defeat and a touch of sadness. "We fight. And then we have sex. That's it, right? That's what we do. That's why you called, isn't it?"

It surprised him that her words stung. It wasn't the first time they had argued, not even the first time they had argued about the status of their…whatever it was they were doing, but this time felt different. She felt different. They had been getting closer, at least he had thought they were getting closer, but this sudden change had him questioning it all. Suddenly, it felt like they were at the beginning all over again.

"Have I done something?" Billy lowered his voice and approached her again, placing his hands on top of her shoulders before she could protest or stop him. She tried to avoid his eyes, but ultimately there was no other place to look. "Naw," he said, studying her, "this has your dad written all over it. What is it? What did the moustache do now?"

"Why is it always about my dad?"

"Because it usually is."

"This was a mistake," she whispered and shook her head.

"What? What was a mistake?"

"Coming here." She broke away from him again as the two little words tumbled from her lips and marched towards the door. "Coming here was a huge mistake. I just really don't know what I was thinking."

"Where are you going? Would you just stop? Tell me what's wrong. We can …I don't know…talk. Or not talk. I won't mention your dad again. Just stay?"

"No," she answered without looking back at him. "I've had enough fighting for one day."

"What does that mean?" he called after her. "Vick? Vicky? Victoria?"

It was too late. The door slammed behind her again, and he heard her car start and the rush of tires over low thunder and pounding rain. On the television, a weatherman had interrupted the bottom of the fourth to warn about dangerous driving conditions, strong winds, downed power lines, the potential for flash flooding. Billy sighed and took one more long drink of beer before grabbing his keys and heading out into the storm.

* * *

Her taillights glowed red in front of him, blurry and then clear with the rhythmic swish of his windshield wipers. She was driving fast, not erratic, but fast enough that there was a safe distance between them. He had assumed she was going home, to the ranch, but at the intersection where she should have turned right, she kept going straight, away from home, away from him, away from town even. That concerned him more than had she been driving erratically. She was headed for the middle of nowhere, to roads that only lead to other places.

"Where are you going?" he asked out loud and wondered if even she knew.

He tried calling her, but her phone went straight to voicemail, probably because she was ignoring him, possibly because they were already so far outside the city limits that cell service was spotty at best. He sped up, closing in on her bumper and honked his horn in an effort to get her to stop. Or at least slow down. Or acknowledge him. It worked against him, and she went faster, the spray from her tires forcing his wipers to work overtime. He backed off and lost her for a minute around a curve, but just as quickly as the red glow disappeared, it reappeared, blurry and then clear, blurry and then clear.

The wind had picked up significantly since leaving the trailer, and it took a concentrated effort to dodge all the debris that littered the road. On either side of the two-lane highway, trees swayed like ghosts, waving their branches like arms warning or scaring all intruders away. Up ahead, the twin red lights of Victoria's car turned sharply and then intensified in brightness. Billy hit his brakes too and watched in panic as her tires spun and her car slid sideways, hydroplaning off the road. She was already out of the car by the time the incident fully registered in his brain, and Billy sighed in relief before racing through pounding rain to get to her.

"Victoria!" he yelled over the rain and his still-running engine. "You okay?"

She didn't answer him or even look at him. Instead, she continued pounding her fists against her car, kicking the tires in frustration at not being able to move it from the ditch it was stuck in.

"C'mon," he yelled again. "We'll get it towed first thing in the morning."

"No," she screamed back, finally acknowledging him.

"Okay, we'll get it towed tonight then. Just get in the car. I'll take you home."

"I don't want to go home."

The rain was coming down in sheets now, a white curtain in the headlights of Billy's car. He wiped his face with his hands over and over again like a windshield wiper, but there was no real protection from the cold, stinging rain or the wind that penetrated his skin through his soaked clothes.

"Then let's go back to the trailer. I'll stop and buy all the towels you want."

"No," she said again and finally turned to face him. "I don't want to go there either."

"Would you just…stop being so stubborn? We can go wherever you want, but honey, we can't stay here. It's freezing and storming. It's not safe, Victoria."

As if the universe were conspiring with him, the night lit up with a flash of lightning that spread across the sky, thin, wiry veins reaching to touch earth. In the split-second spark, Billy saw fear overtake fury in her eyes, and she jumped at the crack of thunder that followed.

"Get in the car," he pleaded again, too quiet for her to hear, but he didn't doubt she knew what he asked. She turned away again, and he feared he would have to drag her to the car, force her inside. But he was wrong. She retrieved her purse and keys from inside her vehicle and followed him obediently to his car.

She wouldn't look at him once inside, and he didn't try to make her talk. The tension was too high, and the interior of his sports car too small and drenched to handle an argument. He didn't know what to do, where they were going. It was a long way back to town, a long way back to everything familiar, and the storm was intensifying so much that staying on the road wasn't an option anyway. But he had to get them somewhere, somewhere with more heat than the lukewarm draft blowing from his vents. He surveyed their surroundings, trying to make a decision before she bolted again when he realized where they were, that they weren't on a road that led to nowhere. They were close, real close to a hidden drive that led to a place he was familiar with, a place a lot like home.

* * *

Billy turned back to his fire, stoking it proudly, basking in its warmth and the crackling sound of the wood as it broke under pressure. The cabin had seemed like a good idea at first, an answer to their problem, but when his car stalled halfway up the driveway, all four tires stuck in mud, and they'd had to run the last quarter of a mile in freezing rain, he questioned the decision. If her shoes hadn't been ruined before, they certainly were now.

"Fire's going," he announced and stood up, hoping to break the ice. "It should, uh, it should be warm soon."

Still, she said nothing, made no movement. Billy grabbed a couple of blankets from the couch and walked towards her. "Here," he said, holding the larger, warmer of the two out to her. "You should probably get out of those wet clothes." Déjà vu hit him, and afraid she would his statement the wrong, he amended it. "You can-you can wrap up in this until your, uh, your clothes are dry."

He stuttered, but he couldn't help it. Up close, it was easier to see her in the candlelight. Her hair was matted against the sides of her face, like when she first got out of the shower, and there was one perfect drop of rain on the tip of her nose that he wanted to wipe away. Like him, her clothes were suctioned to her, her blouse like a see-through second skin, the outline of her bra visible as were the darker tips of her breasts, hard and at attention. For one brief moment, Billy was thankful for the cold.

He forced himself to look away and shoved the blanket even closer to her. She eyed his offering for a split second before refusing with a not-so-subtle cut of her eyes. He scoffed at her, at her epic stubbornness, but took it back by responding gently, laying the blanket across the back of the chair closest to her and walking back to the fire. He was determined to wear her down, even if it took all night and all of his tricks. He tossed the second blanket, the one he had kept for himself, on the couch and then ignoring the buttons, pulled his shirt over his head. Though it was wet, he used it to wipe the excess moisture from his face and his hair before letting it drop to the floor. His shoes and socks were the next wet objects to be discarded, and when his hands moved to the fly of his pants, he sought Victoria out of the corner of his eye. Still nothing. He moved the zipper down fast, for maximum noise, and in one quick move, peeled both his pants and boxers down his legs, leaving him naked as the day he was born. He stood that way for more than a minute, letting the fire warm him, all of him, but when his natural state did nothing to thaw the room, he grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around his waist, tucking the ends inside for mobility.

"I'm gonna go see what else I can find," he said quickly, pointing in the direction of the hallway that led to the bedrooms. He didn't want to leave the fire but hoped that a little privacy was what she needed.

As he roamed from room to room, Billy could tell that, except for a kangaroo court, no one had been there for a while. That made him a little sad as he walked through memory after memory, of summers spent swimming, fishing, racing on jet-skis and winters filled with skiing and skating and hot cocoa by the fire. And his father. His family. He pushed back that ache for something that was gone and never could be again, turning his attention back to the task at hand. Though he had little expectation of finding anything in the neglected drawers and closets, he searched them anyway, hoping the more time he spent among the ghosts of his family, the more time she would have to cool down, ironically enough.

The last bedroom he came to was the most familiar, the one he had called his own since he was a boy. It was exactly the same as he remembered, the same quilt across the bed, the same painting of a father and son fishing from a dock above it. In the dresser, he found a pair of pajama pants, flannel and probably too small for him, too large for her. He took them anyway and then searched the closet. All he saw in there, though, was a blue ski suit, but as he shifted the hangers forward, something else appeared, something he had forgotten about, something that made him smile. It was blue and nearly twenty years old, the cascading red letters that spelled out 'Rangers' slightly faded and tattered. It would do neither of them any good, but Billy grabbed it anyway and headed back to Victoria and the warmth of the fire.

"I didn't find a lot," he said upon re-entering. "But maybe you can…"

He stopped when he saw she was still soaking wet, only her mud-caked shoes removed, the blanket he had offered still on the back of the chair. She hadn't moved, and in that moment he realized that her stubbornness was greater than he had ever imagined. He held out his new findings to her, but when again she wouldn't look at him, he tossed them on the floor and shook his head angrily.

"Fine, princess. Freeze to death. See if I care."

He left her there, skulking back to stoke his fire, anger growing inside him. He wanted to yell at her, to shake her and ask what in the hell was wrong with her. He wanted to know why she was being such a bitch when all he was doing was trying to help her, all he had wanted to do since New Year's Eve was help her. His frustration had grown too much, and he swirled around to confront her, but stopped just as quickly.

He saw her then, saw all the things he had missed earlier. She had moved. Her hands were in front of her waist, the front of her blouse pulled from the confines of her skirt, but her fingers didn't move. She shook her hands once and then again, moving them closer to the bottom button, but the button remained in tact. She looked at him for the first time then, and for the first time he saw how pale her skin was, the blue tint of her lips, the fear in her eyes. She whimpered, the only sound she could make, and Billy's pulse quickened, fear of his on congealing in his throat. He rushed to her and took her hands in his. They were like icicles. He knew that kind of cold, the kind that snuck up on you and hurt until it didn't anymore.

Without thinking, without asking, he ripped her shirt open and pushed it from her body. Her bra was next, and he averted his eyes, working quickly and methodically. His hands fumbled for the zipper on her skirt, and when he found it, he stripped her completely, but left her exposed for only a second as he grabbed the blanket she had turned down and wrapped it around her. He half pushed, half carried her to the fireplace, pulling her with him to the floor, his arms wrapped tight around her as he rubbed warmth into her arms.

"You're okay," he breathed into her wet hair. "You're gonna be okay."

Then finally, in the golden glow of the fire, Victoria let go and shivered, her body shaking hard as Billy pulled her even closer, her head coming to rest against his warm, safe shoulder as his promise circled around them both.


	2. Chapter 2

Cold Front

Chapter 2

The beast appeared to have been tamed. Its blustery fury had quieted to a low, distant rumble, and all that remained of the storm peppered against the window panes like sad, persistent knocking.

Victoria, too, had calmed. Her body had long since stilled from the shivering that had shaken them both, and the only sign of life now was the slow, steady breaths that told him she was okay. Each rise and fall was more reassuring than the last, but as convinced as he was, Billy dared not moved, content with the tender weight of her against him, the scent of her damp hair beneath his nose. They were safe this way, from the storm and from whatever happened next, and he was more than willing to stay in their current position all night, forever even, to avoid both. He would have, too, except that in the time it had taken Victoria to warm up, the fire had grown low, its faint dying embers calling out to him, begging for oxygen.

He waited as long as he could and then shifted and cleared his throat as a warning to her. "The fire…," he said, and his voice startled them both.

She complied without a word, nodding her understanding as she lifted her head from his chest and sat upright. Without looking at him, she drew her knees in close to her body and pulled the blanket she had refused earlier tight around her so that only her head and the tips of her toes were visible. She looked better. The pink had returned to her cheeks and lips, and though she stared blankly into space, he knew her eyes were void of fear. Suddenly cold again without her, Billy forced himself to stop looking at her and with one hand securing his own blanket, scooted like a three-legged crab to the fireplace. He used the poker to jab at the base of his creation, pushing at the ashes and the blackened logs until the red glow once again blazed before him. He stayed there longer than necessary, breathing life into the fire again and again, adding more wood to crackle and burn. He didn't know what else to do. Should he return to her? And if he did, would she come back to his arms or had that opportunity passed?

"Kinda ironic. Isn't it?"

Her voice was soft and low and crept up on him like a spiral of smoke that circled around him, embracing him from behind. He froze, poker still in hand, and waited for her to continue. When she didn't right away, he lowered his head and cocked it to the side, just enough to see her bundled silhouette behind him, a sign to her that he was listening.

"Ice princess can't take a little cold." She looked at him then, and he saw the hint of a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes planted at the corner of her mouth. "It's funny even. I can see the headlines now. 'Newman Heiress Freezes to Death…In June.' You could have a sold a ton of magazines."

He knew what she was doing. Deflecting. Trying to make light of the situation so they could move on without getting tangled in the awkwardness, without wading into the seriousness of what had happened, of what could have happened. It would have been easy to let her off the hook, to laugh or make a joke in return. It would have been easy for both of them. But he couldn't. He couldn't make light of it when all he could see was her, blue lips, frozen hands, that terrifying fear in her eyes. That heart-stopping fear of his own.

He glared at her, turning his head fully to meet her eyes. His response came as a surprise, a hurtful surprise, and she lowered her eyes immediately in shame and a silent apology. Billy returned the poker to its home and turned his back to the fire. He copied her pose, drawing his knees as close as the tautness of his blanket allowed and rested his arms on top of them. And he waited. The next move was hers.

At his silence, she looked back up and then away. She opened her mouth once to say something and then closed it. Her instinct was to lash out, to pick a fight, but there was something about the way he was looking at her that made her reconsider.

"I had a bad day," she finally shrugged, meeting his stare full on. "That's all. The weather...I didn't mean…I didn't…"

Her eyes pleaded with him to accept her answer, as miserable an explanation as it was. He did believe her, had no doubt she had had a bad day and that no matter how powerful the Newmans were or believed themselves to be, she hadn't planned on getting caught in a storm. He also knew there was more to it and that embarrassment and pride kept her from continuing. He understood that. He'd had some experience in that department.

"Well, it just so happens that _I _am the king of bad days." He flashed an animated smile, and the pressure in the room instantly lessened, like a breath released. "But see mine, they're usually of my own doing. There was this one time, in fact, I ended up drunk in a ditch. On New Year's Eve."

"So, I guess we're even now?"

"Naw." His smile faded, and in her eyes he saw that night reflected. He saw his miserable self dusted with snow, and he saw her, hand outstretched, a gesture of kindness from someone he deserved anything but. He had known even then that it was a moment that would change his life. "Not even close," he added quietly.

He was the first to look away, averting his eyes as the rest of that night came back to him quicker than it had the first time. He blamed their location. Memories were everywhere here, a cabin full of ghosts, every object hidden in the shadows holding a memory or secret from his past. He wanted to know her secrets. He wanted to know about her day, what had caused her to run from him, to storm out. He wanted her to tell him everything, and he wanted her to want to tell him. And then he wanted to fix it. It surprised him how much he wanted to fix it.

"You know," he started and gestured around the room with his eyes, "this place…it's uh, it's a lot like Vegas." Victoria furrowed her brow and shot him a look of disbelief. "Without the slot machines and lights and showgirls," he conceded with a contagious grin. "But what happens here…it sorta stays here. Like the last time we were here. The kangaroo court? Anything you say tonight, Vick…it won't go beyond these walls."

She studied him, his face, his eyes, and Billy knew she was trying to decide if she could trust him. Or maybe she was trying to decide if she even wanted to tell him at all. Her feet suddenly disappeared inside her ivory cocoon, and a bare arm surfaced to tuck one end of the blanket under her other arm. She was cross-legged now, and her freed hand ran through her tousled hair once and then again, pushing it to one side so that her exposed shoulder shimmered in the flickering candlelight.

"You weren't completely wrong before," she said drawing his eyes back to her face.

"Your dad? What he do now?"

"The usual. He's back from his Adam-hunting expedition. Which means—"

"Which means he's back to giving you grief," Billy finished for her.

"Giving me grief. Running my life. Second-guessing my decisions. It's all the same thing. And I _really_ should be used to it by now." She laughed and shook her head and her fingertips traced the quilted design that covered her knee. "I was so proud when he asked me to run Newman while he was away. I thought maybe it was a sign he was backing off me and y…that he was backing off my personal life."

"It felt good," she smiled after a pause. "Sitting behind that desk. Running the family company. But the minute he got back, it all changed. It was just one stupid little comment. And I let it get to me."

Billy watched her as she talked, as she blamed herself for something that he couldn't help but feel partially responsible for. She looked like a little girl sitting there cross-legged on the floor, barefaced and big blue eyes full of hurt and vulnerability. He wanted to tell her to forget her dad, to live her own life and do what she wanted no matter what anyone thought. But he feared it would start a fight, and he also knew the push and pull of a parent-child relationship. So he held his tongue for once and continued to listen.

"So then I blew off a lunch meeting and went to see Nick. To commiserate a little." She exhaled loudly and then looked at him as if she remembered something. "That's where I was when you called by the way. About your jacket. I was at the jail. That's why I couldn't answer."

"I take it your brother wasn't much help?"

She shook her head in response and averted her eyes. She had gone to see Nick for comfort, selfish as it was given his circumstances. She'd only been there a few minutes when the topic of conversation shifted from how their father would never stop meddling in their lives to a second round of Nick telling her she was losing her edge because of some infatuation that wouldn't last. They had argued, and she had defended her relationship with Billy as casually as she could. But she was tired of downplaying it, tired of it even being brought into question.

"I guess it's true that jail changes a person," she said with a smirk. He smiled too, and she knew by the look in his eyes that he was willing to let her get away with one deflecting joke tonight. But, she declined his silent offer and grew serious again.

"The truth is..Nick can't really understand what it's like for me. Because if he wasn't in jail and if Adam wasn't a psychopath, Dad would have never left me in charge. He's got this chauvinistic view of the world. It's ingrained in him. And it's infuriating because no matter how hard I work, no matter how much harder I work, it's never enough. I'm not a son." Her voice faltered, and she let out an exhausted breath before attacking her hair again It was one of her tells, a sign she was frustrated and upset. "Even after all the things I've done for him. For the company. Things I'm not proud of."

The gun. Billy's mind went straight to Japan and the gun in the box she had carried into a meeting with a government official. It had been an obvious bribe, obviously arranged by Victor, but carried out by the woman he had followed halfway around the world. He hadn't thought of it since their trip, not since he'd walked her back to her room after karaoke and trapped her against the paper-thin door. He'd smiled and leaned close, prepared to continue his argument for sharing a room, but she surprised him instead, sliding the door to reveal that his bags had already been moved to her room. The rest of the trip had been them. The gun was a non-issue, one he didn't want to think about again.

The secret of the gun loomed between them, and suddenly the distance was too much. The fire was hot at his back now, and he gratefully used it as an excuse to crawl back to her. He was even more grateful when she welcomed him with a smile, a smile he clearly saw reach her eyes. They could see each other better, their faces, all the little nuances they were still learning about each other, the nerves that fluttered deep within. Billy eased his back against the end of the sofa inches from her and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the fire, getting reacquainted with their closeness.

"My dad was always hardest on me too," Billy said after a few minutes, "I used to think it was because he didn't really want another kid. That I was a nuisance he was stuck with when he'd rather be golfing. But now I think maybe he just forgot. I mean, by the time I came along, Jack and Ash and Traci were grown. They had families and successful careers. I think he forgot that before they got their acts together, they were kids. I'm a screw-up, I'm not denying that. But no matter what I did, good or bad, it was compared to them. All of my screw-ups were compared to them."

It was a conversation now. A heartfelt, honest conversation. Victoria offered him a sympathetic look, one that he returned before looking away. She liked having close, liked that she only had to whisper now for him to hear her.

"None of mattered today, though," she said. "I wasn't going to let it. Because tonight was my night with Reed. All night, too. Not just a few hours. I had it all planned. First we were going to go to the park and play and get ice cream Then we were going to pick up a pizza on the way home. Pepperoni and mushroom. He's the only kid I know who likes mushrooms on his pizza. Then I was going to introduce him to _E.T_."

Her face was alive as she talked, but guilt consumed Billy as he realized she was stuck there instead of with her son because of him, because of that damn jacket. "Vick...I'm sorry. I'm really…I didn't.."

"No," she said so gently it felt like a touch. "When I got to the coffeehouse to pick him up, he comes running at me with his little overnight bag, shouting 'Can I, Mommy. Can I.'" Her face turned sad then, her heart broke right in front of him. "One of his friends from day camp wanted him to spend the night with him instead."

"And you let him go."

"I couldn't say 'no' to that little face. And J.T. just stood there and said, 'It's up to Mommy.' Like he wanted me to be the bad guy."

She wiped at her eyes, and Billy couldn't resist scooting closer to her. The pieces of her day had fallen into place, only the last one hung in the air. She had come to him. When the rest of the world had let her down, she had come to him. He leaned his head against hers and right away felt her lean back against him. "Divorce sucks."

"I just never want him to go through what I did with my parents. I thought J.T. wanted the same thing."

"Want me to beat him up? The offer's still good."

"No," she said and broke their connection to reiterate her point. But behind her serious tone, there was a spark that fueled him.

"Want me to tell your dad what we did in his office? He'll never go in there again. It'll be all yours, sweetheart."

"Don't you dare!" she warned, but her eyes and mouth betrayed her. He wanted to kiss her so hard, so hard she forgot her day, but she pulled away before he could let his intentions be known. "Why do you put up with me?

"I could ask you the same question."

"I'm serious. All you've gotten so far is a black eye and daily verbal abuse. And don't say sex. Because I'm sure you could find plenty of women to have sex with."

"Well, I have seen you with a limbo bar," he quipped. "And you can hold your liquor. That's important."

She smiled and looked away, silently accepting his less-than-sincere answer. And maybe that was what gave him the courage to go on. That or the side of her face glowing in the candlelight, the curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulder.

"And you're beautiful," he whispered. She froze and swallowed hard. "And smart. And funny. And you don't know any of those things about yourself. You're strong. The strongest person I know. You went through a divorce and a custody battle and you held your head high. You never let your little boy feel anything other than loved. And you're kind. You pull people out of ditches when they don't deserve it, make them see what they're worth. Challenge'em to be better."

She wasn't breathing, and Billy could tell she was fighting the urge to look at him. He saved her the effort and leaned close, positioning his lips right at her ear. "And for the record," he smiled, "the sex is very, very, very, very, very…incredible."

She laughed. It started low, but quickly grew louder and deeper. He wished she could feel that from his side, the warmth she created with a sound. Somewhere during the laughter, her blanket loosened and slipped low, skimming the fullness of her breasts. He tried not to look, but he couldn't help it. There was nothing childlike about her now. She was a woman, a woman with a collarbone he had traced with his finger, skin he had tasted, legs he had parted in search of pleasure. And a heart. A heart she had revealed in jagged little piece by jagged little piece.

She caught him looking when she found the courage to face him again. She watched the way his eyes drank her in, the way his hand shook as it reached out and touching only the blanket, covered her. It was then and only then that they remembered that beneath the warmth and security that smelled faintly of cloves and smoke was nothing but flesh. She blushed as a flash of him pealing soaked clothes from her body ran through her mind and then jumped as a flash of lightning illuminated the room. Billy had been wrong. The beast wasn't tamed; it was only resting and now beat harder and harder against the roof.

"I guess we're stuck here for a while," she said, her eyes on his mouth and then his muscled chest. "Probably all night even."

"Yeah," he managed to say with little air. "Probably."

"What are we going to do? To pass the time?"

"There's, uh, there's a, uh, a jigsaw puzzle in the closet. A thousand pieces."

"Hmm? I don't really think there's enough light for that."

"Board games? There's Scrabble. Or monopoly? I bet-I bet you're good at that one."

"I'm good at a lot of things," she whispered and turned towards him, tucking her legs to the side. "Too good maybe."

He raised from his reclining position in response and lifted a hand into the air, contorting it into one shape after another. "Shadow puppets?"

The dark outline of his arm waved across the floor and then the wall behind them. Victoria raised her free arm to meet it, her fingertips grazing the valleys between his fingers, at the places where they met his palm. "I was thinking of something a little more like this."

Her lips touched his, but didn't move. Billy clasped his hand around hers and with his other, stroked her face. Her eyes were on fire, and he found it hard to believe she wanted him as much as he wanted her. "I think I like this," he said against her mouth, and then she proved him wrong and kissed him hard.

She forced her way into his mouth, not that he put up a fight. Her tongue slid between his lips, and she let go of his shadow puppet hand so she could pull him closer, dive deeper into him. He was drowning and not even trying to save himself.

"Wait," he said when she came up for air. "You sure? I mean…you're okay?"

"Yes," she breathed, but pulled away from him. Her arm that had remained hidden since he first wrapped her in the blanket emerged, as bare as her other arm, and gravity took over. The folds of ivory tumbled, slipped to her waist, exposing her perfect full breasts. "I'm sure."

"But we're not fighting," Billy smiled.

"No. We don't always fight."

It was all the convincing he needed. He kissed her this time, soft and slow. His lips nibbled at hers, teasing her, making her beg for more. She tugged at him, pulling him towards her, to the floor. He let her, but stopped them midway, supporting her body and his with one flexed arm while he stretched and reached for the sofa. She looked at him with confused eyes until his vagrant arm returned with a pillow that he placed just below the spot where he lay her head.

She looked like a mermaid there on the floor. The ivory quilt remained swaddled around her waist and only the very tips of her feet peeked out from the end. Her dark hair sprayed out beneath her head, making it look as though she were underwater. He couldn't stop looking at her, and he couldn't stop the throbbing of his own arousal.

"Kiss me," she said.

"I will. Soon as I decide where."

Though they were hidden, Billy saw her squeeze her legs together to increase the pleasure she already felt. He touched her with the tips of his fingers first, lightly, on her stomach, dragging them backwards across the muscular plane. She sucked in a mouthful of air at the ticklish sensation, and smooth skin pimpled with a chill. His palm flattened against her and crept up her body as he lowered his head to her mouth. She parted her lips in anticipation of his but gasped when his hand reached her breast and his fingers parted to capture the tiny, hard pink tip in between. He squeezed her nipple, and she arched into his touch.

It was sweet torture, but torture nonetheless. The pull from deep within her core only strengthened the longer he didn't kiss, and just when death seemed imminent, he leaned in for a kiss. But her mouth wasn't the target. He faked her out, sliding all the down her body until she felt his fiery hot tongue on her hip. He pushed aside the blanket, exposing more of her and then licked his way back across her abdomen, dragging his teeth across tender skin. She pulled at him, demanding him back to her. He complied, making his way up her body, one kiss at a time until he found he found his way home again in her mouth.

He kept his distance, though, knowing he had to slow down or it would be over soon. As they kissed, his rogue hand flitted down her body again, landing gently at the edge of her quilted mermaid's half. He left it there as their tongues danced, as her hands roamed across his chest and back. The desire was too much, though. He wanted to touch her, to feel her. He pressed against her stomach, creating a gap between her and the blanket, just enough room for his fingers to slip beneath.

Her breathing hitched as soon as he touched skin that was softer than the rest of her, and involuntarily, her legs parted to accommodate him. He tiptoed across her, relishing the knowledge that it was his privilege to touch her there, to touch her everywhere. His fingers massaged her and circled that tiny nub that gave her so much pleasure.

"Billy…" she sighed, but he ignored her and continued his assault on her mouth and neck and his exploration below.

"Billy…," she said again and grabbed his arm. Her breathing had changed. It was ragged, and his name sounded more like a plea this time. "I'm…ready."

"I know," he smiled against her ear.

Her hand moved between them and slipped beneath his own protection. She took him in her hand, her fingers traveling the firm length of him. "So are you."

"Mmmm," Billy half-moaned, half-gasped as he struggled to free himself from her tantalizing grip. "Uh uh. Not yet." He lowered his head to her ear, lowered his voice to a whisper as his teeth rubbed against her earlobe and his rogue hand found a new depth. "I wanna watch you."

Her body stiffened, and a rush of blood crept across her cheeks. It was true, though. He wanted to watch her. He wanted to learn everything about her, all her secrets, all the secret parts of her, the places she liked being touched, the places that made her say his name like a prayer. They had all night. The storm was unrelenting, and he wanted to take his time.

His touched convinced her, or gave her little choice. She released him, and her eyes closed automatically as the sensations became too much. He watched every inch of her, from her fist gripping the pillow beneath her head to her toes that curled and unculrled again and again. Her breathing changed, deepened. She was panting, and her stomach sank lower with each new plea for air. When he found that place of anatomical lore, she arched her back like a bridge and clamped her lower lip between her teeth. She was possessed by pleasure, a look of anguish Billy knew was bliss on her face. She was close, so close, caught between begging him to stop and pleading with him to continue. He moved faster and faster, and she moved against him, taking what she needed until finally, suddenly her body went rigid and clamped onto him hard. She was in a white light world, shattered and whole at the same time. Billy continued a gentle massage until her face melted into a smile.

Victoria looked at him as she tried to catch her breath, and he was both surprised and relieved that she wore no trace of embarrassment. Instead, her eyes were full of one thing only - desire. She kissed his nose and gently guided his hand from her, pushing away the rest of her cover and his as she did. She rolled to her side and pressed against him, kissing him on the mouth as her leg hooked across him. In one move, she flipped him onto his back and was on top of him before he knew it, a smooth knee on either side of him. The kiss was broken when she sat up, the mermaid no more rising above him, her mouth red and swollen, her hair a curtain on either side of her face. He followed her, rising to meet her body, his mouth in desperate need of hers while his erection pressed between them.

He was trying to hold back. It was torture to hold back when all he wanted was to be deep inside her. But she wasn't ready yet. Couldn't be ready yet. And he wanted to let her have a little control back, after what she had let him do. He placed his hands on top of the silky thighs that flanked him and scraped the back of his hands across her hips until they found the dip of her lower back. His fingers played there gently, drawing circles, dipping lower with each pass until Victoria arched her back, and her breasts were thrust against his mouth. He took one hard, tender nipple into his mouth, sucking at it, licking it, rolling it around and around.

She pulled him off her when the sensation became too much and the need for more of him became overwhelming. She rested her forehead against his as she reached between them, taking him in her hand. She kept her eyes on him as she touched him, running her fingers up and down his shaft and then guiding him to her, positioning him at her opening. She used his shoulders for support and watched him as she took him in her.

All around them, the world flung itself in violent rages, the fire, the storm. They raged and roared, demanding to be heard, but in the space between Billy and Victoria, all was quiet save for the pounding of hearts and slow, exhausted breaths. It felt right, so right.

She was the first to move, raising her hips until they were nearly two again. Billy cradled her back, pulling her back to him, the first steps in a dance. She pushed and he pulled. They rocked, the speed a little faster each time. It wasn't enough, though, not for him. It wasn't enough of her. Billy needed more. He grabbed one of her legs, unfolding it, pulling it around his back, and then did the same with the other. She latched onto him, a death grip that pulled him deeper inside of her. He was so close to release, but fearing she wasn't, he moved his hand between them and found the little pearl still engorged from earlier. Her nails dug into his shoulder, and every sound from her lips was his name, different every time she spoke it, a plea, a moan, a demand. A thank you.

"Vick?" he breathed against her, and she nodded. He thrust harder and harder, again and again, until she exploded around him and he finally allowed himself relief, deep inside.

They both shook, their bodies trembling as if from the cold again. They were in that same blinding place, this time together, each of them soothing the other with tender touches.

She laughed first, against the sheen of sweat that covered his chest, and he soon followed. Neither wanted to move from this place of honesty and trust. Where there was no disappointment. No hurt. No summer rain that felt like the freezing end of the world. In that moment, all that existed inside their haven was a storm, a fire and a single shadow that danced among secrets.


	3. Chapter 3

Cold Front

Chapter 3

The flames leapt and danced, higher and higher. Victoria was mesmerized by them. By the colors, the sounds, the heat. She'd never paid much attention to fire before, never had the time or the need. It was simply warmth when winter laid its claim on the world. It was romantic when flickering from the end of a wick, dangerous when out of control. But tonight she had a new appreciation for it. Fire, she discovered as she lay three feet away from the blaze that had revived her, was beautiful. It was a beautiful surrender, a second chance for a thing that had once been alive to live again. The kindling wasn't to be pitied as it succumbed to the flames. That was its destiny, to fuel a spark and together, burn bright.

Billy was behind her, a second fire at her back. Every inch of him was pressed against every inch of her. His folded arm rested against her stomach, and the palm of his hand softly cupped her breast. She liked it. She liked the way he touched her, the way he felt against her, the way he made all the bad stuff fall away, all the hurt and disappointment just disappear into the dark abyss of memory.

She knew what this was. She knew the name that belonged to it, the word they had both danced around for weeks. It was only a couple of weeks ago she had stood in her father's office with her mother and denied having fallen for Billy Abbott. But every day that passed with moment after moment like this, the harder it was becoming to deny. And that whisper inside of her was becoming more and more persistent, telling her at every kiss, every quiet, satisfied second, "Say it. Just say it."

He hadn't moved a muscle since they'd poured themselves onto the floor. His breathing had slowed against her, and she wondered if he was even awake or just mesmerized by the fire like she was. She touched his arm, and he didn't flinch. Her fingertips found the soft, nearly invisible hair that covered his forearm and stroked it back and forth.

"Billy?"

"Mmmm." His palm tightened against her breast and then slid to her stomach, pulling her to him so that she felt every inch of him even closer . His face nuzzled into the curve of her shoulder. The tiny whiskers of his five o'clock shadow tickled, and she coiled into him.

"I thought you were sleeping," she whispered with a lazy grin.

He smiled against her shoulder, and the warm breath against her skin told her he was laughing before she heard it. "After what we just did? Uh uh. Sleep is the _last_ thing on my mind."

She agreed with a chuckle of her own and a knowing glance back at him. The high from what she had felt earlier was still with her, still made her languid and liquid inside. Billy kissed her shoulder and then her back, the beginnings of round two evident to them both. But just as quickly as he began, he stopped.

"You're okay, aren't you? I mean...are you…you're warm enough?"

Without waiting for her to respond, he pulled the blanket that covered them, the one that earlier had only covered her, up tight around her neck. She didn't want it, the extra warmth or his concern, any reminder of the rain or her behavior. Her weakness. She wanted things to be normal between them. She turned in his arms and rested her forehead against his. The hand that had been on her breast was now at her back, warm and firm even through the quilted barrier.

"After what we just did? Uh uh. I'm…toasty."

"Toasty?" he mimicked, and the mood was instantly altered. "I'll show you toasty." He moved to kiss her, but stopped when she placed her hand on his chest and opened her mouth to say something. "What? What is it?"

"Nothing. It's just…" She cast her eyes down and drew a continuous circle on his chest.

"Hey." He pushed her hair off her face and with his thumb, tilted her chin until her gaze was even with his again. Part of him was afraid of what she wanted to say, but they had come too far tonight to chicken out now. "Vegas. Remember?"

"It's just…" she repeated and exhaled loudly. "I was just wondering if…there's maybe…any food here?"

"Food? You're hungry?"

"No. I'm starving. Don't laugh." She playfully hit him where she had drawn on his chest, and he bit his lip with little success. "I only had coffee for breakfast and I skipped lunch to see Nick And well, you know how dinner turned out. Besides…I'm always hungry after…"

"Yeah, you are," he grinned, and she planted a persuasive kiss on his lips. "But, Vick, I don't think anybody's been here in a while, and we're not exactly in delivery distance, not that we could call anybody anyway with no cell service." She batted sad eyes at him and planted three more kisses along his jaw line. Saying no to her was becoming an impossible battle to fight. "I can look. I'll look, okay?"

That earned him a full smile, and Billy reluctantly moved to detangle himself from her and the blanket so **he **could follow through with his promise. He tried to repossess the blanket he had donned earlier, but it was trapped under her hip, a rumpled, twisted snake of plaid. She flashed a devious smile and no matter how hard he tugged, refused to give it up. He stood anyway, his nakedness on full, proud display until he was certain she regretted letting him leave. He didn't even bother checking his clothes, certain they were still soaked, and instead found the pajama bottoms he had thrown on the floor. Despite his fear, they fit. They were snug, but they would protect him from the chill as he moved away from the fire.

Victoria languished in the warmth of where Billy had been until she heard the sound of water hitting the sink and then sat up, hugging her knees to her chest.

"We have water at least," he called from the kitchen. "It's not hot, but it's water."

"Food," she demanded.

He scrunched his face at her, but returned to his search. While he opened and closed cabinets, she peeled herself from the floor, wrapping the blanket tight around herself as she stood. Their clothes were indeed still wet, too wet to wear, but she picked each piece up anyway and laid them one by one flat on the sofa and the backs of chairs to dry. Her shoes were a lost cause, but even those she placed neatly away beside the door, next to Billy's. On her way back, she passed the only dry piece of clothing left in the cabin, the blue jersey in a puddle on the floor.

"You know what the best thing about wine is?"

He turned around just in time to see the blue jersey he had forgotten existed until tonight cascade down her golden back, stopping high on her thighs. His mind flashed to that first morning she appeared wearing his shirt and how intimate it had seemed knowing her body was touching the same fabric his had touched, that she had claimed something of his as her own. He felt the same intimacy now as she stood in his family's cabin, her hands lost in the oversized sleeves, almost all of the legs that had wrapped around him an hour ago emerging from a part of him she knew nothing about.

"There's a bad thing about wine?" she retorted. He was watching her when she faced him, had been watching her for a while she realized. They both smiled, a touch of unexplainable shyness in their eyes.

"It, uh, it doesn't go bad," he finally stuttered and held up a bottle and two glasses that dangled upside down from his fingers. In his other hand he held a round, silver tin by its handle. It rattled when he shook it. "Found this too. I guess Abby has been here recently."

"Oooh. Popcorn." Victoria's eyes lit up at the sight, and as Billy made his way back to her, she quickly folded her discarded blanket in half and spread it in front of the fireplace. She added pillows from the couch and was waiting for him cross-legged, his plaid blanket unfurled across her lap, when he returned with his finds. She took the glasses and wine bottle from him. He handed her a corkscrew from his other hand and then reached behind him.

"Dessert," he said and threw a bag of marshmallows he had transported in the snug waistband of his pants into her lap. The pants were even snugger as he tried to sit**, **but with careful easing to the floor and the aid of perfectly placed pillows, he joined her. "I couldn't find any chocolate or graham crackers, but there should be roasting sticks in that box beside you."

He was right, and she pulled out two thin, pointed sticks while he held the silver pan of Jiffy Pop over the fire. "So, how'd you learn how to do all this?"

"What? Forage for food?"

"No. The fire. Were you a Boy Scout or something? You were a Boy Scout, weren't you? With the little uniform and the badges?"

"No, I wasn't a boy scout," he mocked and narrowed his eyes at her. He shook the pan, and the kernels rattled inside as the aluminum top started to balloon up. "My dad."

His answer was casual, almost dismissive, but Victoria knew that wasn't true. It was self-protective the way he answered, the way he stared into the fire instead of looking at her, simply nodding his thanks when she sat a full glass of wine next to him. She brought her own glass to her lips, inhaling the intoxicating scent as peered at him over the edge. She debated whether she should change the subject or offer him the same emotional haven he had offered her. But before "Vegas" could form on her lips, he looked directly at her and smiled.

"We had cooks and gardeners and Mamie growing up. But when we were here, my dad, he uh, he wanted us to do for ourselves. Be good with our hands, I guess"

"Well, he'd be proud." Her lips curled up into a half smile, and she leaned closer so he could hear her over the popping. "Because you are very, verrrry good with your hands."

He blushed and coughed, taken by surprise, and her cheeks flushed too as they each recalled his hands so intimately on her. "Thanks, baby."

They settled into a comfortable silence then as the popping intensified and the smell of popcorn overtook the smell of the fire. Victoria used the wait to prepare dessert. She slid two marshmallows on each stick and leaned them against the rock hearth until they were needed. As she finished, Billy pulled the popcorn off the fire, ripping the top open before sitting the steaming pan between them. Victoria waited for no invitation and grabbed a handful before it even hit the floor.

"Wow. You really were hungry, weren't you?"

"Sorry," she said with her mouth full.

"No, no," he laughed, his eyes lingering on her as he put a few hot pieces into his own mouth. Victoria reached for a second handful, and as she brought it to her perfect pink lips, one fluffy kernel escaped and tumbled down the blue jersey. Billy's eyes followed, reading the "R" and then the "A," the "N," the "G." The rest of the letters were hidden, folded into themselves, pooled into Victoria's lap, but in his mind, he still saw "E," "R," "S."

"What?" Her voice brought him back to the present, snapped his head back up to her face and her puzzled, self-conscious countenance.

"Nothing. It's just…that shirt. Brings back memories."

"Was it yours? Because I never really pictured you as a hockey fan."

"I'm not. I mean…I'm more into baseball and football. A little basketball." He picked up his glass of wine and took a long drink to buy him some time. This was getting comfortable, them, conversation. It was easy, always easier than he expected. Suddenly there were a million things he wanted to tell her, but zero pressure to actually say them. Just desire. He sat the glass down and rubbed at his face until a smile appeared. "But see, that, what you're wearing? Best present I ever got."

"Really?" She studied him and then looked down at her attire, studying it as intensely.

"Yeah," he nodded. "When me and my dad lived in New York, we went to a few games. It was kind of hard, moving there. New York was where we lived, but Genoa City was still…home."

"I felt the same way about boarding school. I hated it."

"I didn't hate New York," he said. "Just everywhere you looked, there were reminders that it wasn't home. You know, no trees except in Central Park, and when it did snow, it turned into gray slush before you could get out the door. Couldn't root for the Yankees or Mets because we were Brewers fans. No Jets or Giants because of Packers." He stopped and pointed at her. "But, see, Wisconsin doesn't have a hockey team."

She smiled an understanding smile as he drained the last of his wine down his throat. She offered him more, but he shook his head. The jersey felt different now, warmer, and she touched the stitching on the front of it as his memory became hers.

"My dad bought season tickets every year. We didn't go to every game, but there was this one year. Man, it was a great year. The Rangers made it all the way to the Eastern Conference Finals, but they were down in the series, three games to two. Then the night before Game 6, Mark Messier, Rangers Captain - that's his jersey you're wearing, he comes out and guarantees a Rangers win. Just guarantees it, Vick."

"So did they? Win?"

"Yep. They were down 2-1 in the last period when Messier, he gets a hat trick. That's when one guy gets three goals in a game."

"I know what a hat trick is," she retorted and threw a piece of now cold popcorn at him. "There were lots of hockey players in Switzerland. Hot, hunky hockey players."

"Oh, really?" He threw the piece of popcorn back at her, and when that missed, causing her to laugh harder, he threw a pillow.

"So, did you get the jersey that night?" she managed between giggles and jealous glares.

"Naw," he shook his head. "They won Game 7, too and then the Stanley Cup that year, but I didn't- I didn't get the jersey until our first Christmas back in Genoa City. I guess my dad knew I was having a tough time readjusting. It was a nice reminder of my other home. It's even signed. See?"

He leaned forward, as far as the snug bottoms allowed and touched her, pushing her hair back as his fingers grazed the "C" near her left shoulder until they stopped at a tiny scribble. All she could make out looking down were the two "M's," but sometimes all you needed was a hint of something to know it was true. The whisper inside her was stronger now, deafening.

"What about you?" he asked suddenly.

"Me? Oh, I'm more of a baseball fan. Sox. Southside."

"No," he laughed and made a grab at her ribcage before breaking their physical connection. "Best present you ever got as a kid?"

"What? No. I'm not telling you that."

"C'mon. Tell me. Was it pink? A doll? Are you afraid of people finding out the big, bad business woman played with dolls?"

"No. It wasn't pink or a doll. And I'm not telling you because…well, because you'll just make fun of me."

"No I won't. Promise." With his finger, he made a cross over his chest, but his face was far too animated to trust. He must have sensed it, because he grew serious and uttered the word she needed to hear. "Vegas."

"It was a horse," she finally sighed without looking at him.

"A-A horse?"

She could hear the amusement in his voice and snapped her head back up, a lethal look in her eyes. "You promised, Abbott."

"No, I'm-I'm not laughing. I'm not. It's just...I should have guessed it considering who your father is. So, was this horse a Christmas present or a birthday present?"

"I don't remember." She picked at the blanket in her lap and scrunched her forehead to draw the memory out. "I don't even remember how old I was. But it was cold, and my mom and dad led me to the barn and there was this horse with a big red bow on it. My dad picked me up so I could pet it. I had a handful of mane when he whispered, this big grin on his face, "He's all yours, my girl."

Maybe it was because they had fought earlier, but the memory affected Victoria more than she had anticipated. She had never loved or hated her father more than right now, and that was the most frustrating part of all. She missed the father whose strength always surprised her, the one who trusted her, the one who called her the apple of his eye and shared his love of horses with her.

"It wasn't really the horse he gave me," she muttered more to herself than to Billy.

"It wasn't really the hockey game," he replied, and they locked eyes in the firelight.

"You know," she started with a half-smile, "I did all the competitions, the dressage, for him. To make him proud. Even though he didn't always show up. But the competitions, they were never my favorite part about riding." She paused and got a far away look on her face. The half-smile became a full one. "I used to get up early, before my dad even sometimes. It would still be dark out, and I would sneak downstairs to the stable in my nightgown and riding boots. The stable hands must have thought I was crazy, this little girl with wild hair saddling up at dawn. I didn't care, though. It was the best feeling, Billy, to be on this creature, just the two of us, nothing between us but trust. We would go faster and faster, racing the sun across the meadow. It was scary and exhilarating and freeing. There's nothing like it in the world. Except maybe falling in love."

The words caught her off guard, and she looked away, into the fire, the colors, the sounds, the heat her refuge. But Billy didn't seem to notice. She felt him, his hand on hers, his fingers working their way between hers. "Your dad taught you to ride," he said, "but that doesn't mean you have to ride his horse for the rest of your life. You can buy your own horse, Vick."

"Is that what you did? With the magazine?"

"My dad taught me to be a business man. To have something of my own I could be proud of. Jabot wasn't it for me."

"Yeah, but Newman is it for me, Billy. It's my legacy. It's part of who I am."

"It's not the best part," he whispered and tugged at their joined hands. "Hey, you'll have to take me riding sometime. Show me your moves."

"You think you can keep up with me?" she smiled.

"Not a chance. Just make sure your dad's out of town. If he knows I'm there, he'll probably sic a pack of wolves on me or talk the horse into leaving me for dead."

She pushed him playfully, not hard, but his laughing propelled him backwards and he surrendered to the fall. He stretched his legs out, propping his feet in her lap, while his hands supported his head, the rest of him on full display. Victoria couldn't take her eyes off him, his body, his muscular chest flexed and elongated, the waistband of his pants low across his hips, just above the telling bulge. There was something about him, the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, that always made her feel like a teenager. Not that she had ever really experienced this strong sexual urgency as a teenager. This desire, this need, this was all Billy Abbott.

She stroked his legs and then pushed his feet out of her lap as she rose to her knees, letting the blanket fall away. She crawled to him, and with her eyes on his twinkling eyes the whole time, straddled his waist. He felt the heat of her sex against his skin, and immediately freed his hands to search out the hem of the jersey, his jersey. It was deja vu as his fingers slid beneath the fabric and took hold of her hips. His thumbs pressed against the hard, protruding bone on either side and then proceeded higher up her body.

Victoria stopped his progress, covering his hands with hers, sliding them back down her hips. She locked her fingers with his and pushed his arms away from her, all the way back to the floor. She dipped her head low and teased him with the closeness of her mouth, relishing the control she had over him.

"Stay," she said without kissing him and let go of his hands. He tried to rebel and reached for her again, but she pushed his hands down harder. "Stay," she said with more authority.

He did as she commanded, watching as she planted her hands on his chest and used the leverage to rise and push her way further down his body. When she passed over the growing bulge, he lifted his hips and pushed himself against her. She lost her focus for a second and nearly scrapped her plans.

"I thought you were hungry," he said in his defense and licked his lips suggestively.

"Oh, I am," she breathed. "For dessert."

The sticks she had prepared earlier were just within reach. She grabbed one and stretched her arm until the marshmallows met the fire, browning and blistering as she rotated the skewer. Billy watched, amused and enticed. When they were done to her liking, Victoria brought the gooey treat to her lips and took a bite that left a white trail down her chin. He wanted nothing more than to wipe it away, with his thumb, with his mouth.

"Uh uh uh," she chided when he tried to sit. He growled in frustration, and she took pity on him, placing her marshmallow-covered thumb against his lips. Billy opened his mouth and sucked her finger inside, again and again until the sweet substance was gone.

He had hoped it would be her undoing, but it was only her beginning. She pulled her thumb sharply away and pinched off a sticky chunk. Billy opened his mouth in invitation, and she complied, easing her hand to his mouth. But before she got to his lips, her hand deterred and dropped the marshmallow in the center of his chest. It was hot, and Billy sucked in a breath on contact.

"Oops," Victoria mouthed. With the skewer still in hand, she lowered her body, and using only her mouth cleaned up her mess. Billy's breathing changed to a familiar, ragged rhythm, and between their bodies, she felt his excitement grow. It made her smile, made her understand the pleasure he had gotten from his sweet torture of her earlier. She could give in now, let him have her, but she wasn't quite through.

As she rose above him again, she swept her hair across his torso. He bucked in response to the gentle caress and closed his eyes. That made her smile, because he couldn't see what she had in store next. Her eyes drifted down past the red mark she had left with her mouth to that soft, wispy line of hair that disappeared beneath the elastic waistband. With no warning, that was where she spread the rest of the gooey whiteness. Billy's eyes flew open, but she didn't see it. Her mouth was already on him, licking and sucking the substance from him from his sensitive skin.

There was fire inside him, strong and out of control, burning beneath her lips and teeth and tongue. He could let go. He knew that was what she wanted, but she was what he wanted. In a single, sudden move, he sat up and flipped her onto her back. She was breathless and flushed, and in her eyes he saw the most important thing. She was turned on. He had her pinned to the floor, and the signed jersey was up around her waist. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the second skewer of marshmallows waiting against the hearth, calling to him. He needed a minute to recoup, and he needed to even the score.

He reached for the skewer, knowing she was watching him, and stuck it into the fire. When the marshmallows were gooey, he pulled them from the fire and watched her face follow them, anticipating his revenge. She was panting and completely caught by surprise when the hot substance made contact with the skin of her inner thigh.

"Billy," she gasped, but he was already there, nibbling and licking her while she writhed beneath him.

He thought he heard his name, but nothing was clear. He felt her hands in his hair and then on his back, pulling at him, demanding he come to her. Before he complied, he flicked his tongue between her legs, and she buried her nails in his back. There was no asking if she was sure this time. Her body was telling him everything he needed to know.

There was no time for gentleness this time. Billy pushed the jersey up her body as far as he could, and she hungrily released him from the tight confines of his pants. When he pushed deep inside her, she rose to meet his thrust. His mouth was hot on her breasts, or maybe it was the too- close fire. Then he was at her mouth, and the taste of marshmallow tickled her lips.

Billy heard his name somewhere between 'God" and "yes," over and over again. It was scary how much he needed her, how much she was a part of him. And it was exhilarating. And freeing. It was exactly like falling in love. Just the two of them, nothing but trust between them.


End file.
